


Blue-Dyed Flowers and a Glass of Red Wine

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU.<br/>Starting with Jehan, and I'll probably cycle through different characters.<br/>Order so far: Jehan, then Marius+Cosette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jehan yawned as he moved out from behind the bar, setting about picking up chairs and putting them in their places, upside down, on the tables. Montparnasse closed up the piano and took the sheet music from its place, putting it away inside the piano stool. 

"You enjoy yourself tonight?"

"Barely any tips." Montparnasse grumbled, but his lips were quirked into a slight smile despite his supposedly irritated words. Jehan grinned to himself, black lips quirked into the expression. 

"Where you going now?"

"Home." Montparnasse said lightly, picking his coat up from the table next to the piano and pulling it on. It was a dramatic thing of a deep violet, but it suited Montparnasse very well, Jehan thought. He would think this: he was the one who’d picked it out.

"You don’t want to come to the Café?"

"The Musain?" Montparnasse asked, and then he snorted. "Oh, no."

"Éponine will be there." Jehan pointed out, his tone teasing, and Montparnasse shook his head. 

"No, I’ve sleep to catch up on." Montparnasse waved him off, grabbing his hat. Jehan didn’t know anyone other than Montparnasse who wore hats, and more so, he knew no one at all bar him who could actually look good in a hat. Especially something as traditional as Montparnasse went for, like a tophat.

He’d always had a flair for drama.

Jehan and Montparnasse waved goodbye to the manager, who offered them a tired expression and a laboured wave. Jehan ignored the looks his way as he moved down the street in one direction, and Montparnasse did the same as he walked the other.

Jehan was aware his look was unconventional, but it was the look that suited him, none the less. He withdrew a compact mirror from his backpocket, checking the state of the black lipstick painting his mouth and the liner around his eyes. It was fine enough, and he put the the mirror away again. He didn’t like mascara - it clumped too easily, and after two or three times of getting the stuff in his eyes, Jehan didn’t much feel like being tenacious.

He dipped into the Café Musain, moving towards the door on the right at the back, and stepping into the backroom. Enjolras and Grantaire were standing, discussing something Enjolras had written on his whiteboard (It had been a Christmas present from Combeferre to Enjolras, the whiteboard. Everyone, especially Combeferre after two weeks or so, agreed it had been a bad idea.) The others were settled around a table, playing cards. 

Jehan moved forwards, leaning over Bahorel and sliding his hands around the other’s neck to examine his cards. His plait fell over his shoulder, resting against Bahorel’s, and a petal fell from the dahlia at the plait’s end. That didn’t matter much: it happened occasionally, and Jehan could always get more flowers.

He looked at Bahorel’s cards and then he stood again, slinking around the table and examining everyone else’s hand with undisguised interest. Bahorel looked up, meeting the poet’s eyes in a significant fashion.  _Any tips for me?_

Jehan shrugged, and his meaning was clear:  _You’re going to lose anyway._ Bahorel sighed, slouching in his chair. “The flowers are nice, Jehan.” Feuilly said, and Jehan seated himself next to him.

"Thank you." He said primly. 

"Do you just use food colouring? Like, for the black?"

"Just put the flowers in glasses with the dye. They take it well enough, and then if you dry them out they go really well into hair. Just fragile." Jehan answered, reaching for Bahorel’s drink and taking a small sip before replacing his glass.

"Yeah, but it’s fuckin’ embarrassing to bring a girl back home." Bahorel had shared an apartment with Jehan for two years now, and remained baffled by Jehan’s every habit. "Having to explain why there’s fuckin’ flowers on every surface in black stuff."

"I could say the same of your penchant for old books." 

"No. No, you couldn’t. Lots of people like old books, Jehan. No one fucking puts flowers in black stuff and then  _into their hair_.” 

"It’s called individuality." Jehan said brightly, grinning. Despite Bahorel’s cursing, the words were good-natured, and Bahorel would never insist Jehan put the flowers away unless they were causing some sort of safety hazard.

"So, you’re a hippie." Jehan regarded Courfeyrac with raised eyebrows as he played a hand of cards, and Jehan noticed in his peripheral vision that Combeferre had put his head in his hands. "Why the black lipstick, man?"

Jehan blinked slowly, regarding Courfeyrac with pursed lips and an unamused expression. He gestured with his fingers for Courfeyrac to lean forwards, and put his nose almost to Courfeyrac’s as he fixed him with a dead stare, saying in a quiet, sarcastic tone, “Hippies can be emo too,  _dude_.”

Courfeyrac swallowed hard, leaning back into his chair. “I’m scared. And kind of horny. Mostly horny, actually.”

"I’m not smudging my lipstick for the sake of your cock." Courfeyrac laughed, and Bahorel made a face.

"Do we have to do this at the table?"

"We aren’t eating." Joly pointed out, looking between Courfeyrac and Jehan with a happy enough expression. "And their banter is entertaining."

"For you, maybe.  _You_ 've got a good card hand.” Bahorel retorted, but Jehan shook his head.

"He hasn’t."

"Hey!"

Jehan ordered a cocktail from Louis as she passed the table a few minutes later, but for the time being, he settled to watch the other amis. He had been wrong about Éponine: she was not here tonight. Marius and Cosette were elsewhere - Jehan vaguely recalled Marius mentioning something or other about a dinner with Cosette, her father, and her father’s boyfriend. He’d been quite nervous about the endeavour, but hadn’t really gone into detail.

"Where is Musichetta?" Jehan asked, and Joly and Bossuet looked up from their respective card hands. 

"She’s at home. I think she’s coming down with something or other, but she prefers to take care of herself sick-wise. It’s almost as if she thinks me and Joly don’t make good nurses." Joly chuckled to himself, and the joke drew smiles from the other amis. Musichetta was a strong-hearted woman, and she didn’t appreciate anyone attempting to take care of her, regardless of their intentions or general status.

Jehan let his eyes look over the others seated at the table. Joly and Combeferre were medical students. Despite the extensive workload, Joly still volunteered at least a few hours a week at the animal shelter Bossuet worked in. He’d originally planned to be a lawyer, but had dropped out.

He was a lot happier working in the shelter, and this was all Jehan cared about. 

Combeferre was a responsible fellow, and he lived with Courfeyrac and Enjolras. Jehan enjoyed Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s company, especially when they were back and forthing teasing jibes between each other. Courfeyrac worked as a barista in another café, and while Jehan preferred to give as much business as he could to the Musain, Courfeyrac was a barista of great skill.

Feuilly worked in an artisan’s shop, carving wood pieces for people’s walls, and Bahorel, Jehan’s charming room-mate, worked part-time in a bookstore near Courfeyrac’s coffee shop - it worked around his law studies.

Enjoras and Marius were both law students too, but for the time being Enjolras was arguing with Grantaire (not a rare occurrence), and of course, Marius was absent. Jehan turned to look at Grantaire and Enjolras, interested. Grantaire was a painter, truly, and he worked as an attendant in the local art museum.

Jehan did not think, given Grantaire’s tendency to compare his own work to that of the “greats”, that the job was the best for him, but Grantaire seemed to enjoy it. He answered questions from patrons in more detail than they likely expected, and he knew what he was talking about.

Jehan hoped that one day Grantaire could talk about his own work with the same passion, but Grantaire despised his own paintwork. 

"I don’t want to go to your fucking  _queer ed_  event.”

"It will be good! You can ask questions and discuss different lifestyles-"

"Those LGBT events aren’t meant for  _me_ , Enjolras, they’re meant for you  _gays_.” Grantaire spat the word, and Jehan tilted his head slightly to the side. It was rare that Enjolras could work him up enough to spit a word like that, and it was rarer still than Enjolras reacted well to the snap.

Enjolras punched Grantaire hard in the mouth, sending him flying back across one of the tables. “Don’t you fucking call me that.”

"Why fucking not?" Grantaire kicked Enjolras back as he moved to stand, clutching at his split lip. "At least you’re  _being_  talked about. All this faux-fucking-activism-“

"Oh, fuck off, you  _idiotic_  drunken piece of-” Enjolras moved to punch him again.

"Use your words, boys!" Courfeyrac yelled with a hint of desperation.

He and Combeferre stood from the table, dropping their cards and rapidly moved forwards. Combeferre grabbed Enjolras by the shoulders as Courfeyrac held Grantaire around the middle, pulling them apart before they could start brawling.

They’d done that before. Jehan found Enjolras was much more attractive with his nose bloodied and with a bruise forming on his eye, but Bahorel had informed him that this thought was morbid and, perhaps, not appropriate for sharing with a wider audience.

Jehan made do with watching the blood beading on Grantaire’s lip, his lips quirking into a very slight smile.

Courfeyrac led Grantaire outside, producing a packet of cigarettes and a lighter as they moved, while Combeferre dragged Enjolras back to the table with him and forced him to sit. “Fucking  _ingrate_ , at least it’s something-“

"We’ve talked about violence, Enjolras." Combeferre said tiredly.

"He wouldn’t have gone even if he liked who ran the event." Jehan said lightly. "Grantaire doesn’t like anything resembling corporate events: you know that."

"How else does he expect anything to get done?" 

"He doesn’t expect anything to get done, no matter how much he wants it." Jehan said simply. "That is, in essence, Grantaire’s struggle."  _Grantaire’s Struggle_ , Jehan considered, could be a nice title to a poem. 

Enjolras put his head in his hands, and Combeferre patted him lightly on the back. “I’m sure you can apologize when he comes back in.”

"I hate being called gay. I’m  _not_  gay, and he knows-“

"He does know that, and he also knows very well how much it affects you to say so. Like when you told him he wasn’t worth the clothes on his back half an hour ago." Enjolras’ cheeks coloured, and he shot a look at Combeferre, but he didn’t argue.

"You should channel your anger. Sexually." Jehan said. Enjolras, and indeed, everyone else at the table, stared at him. "A joke." He said lightly, shrugging, and Enjolras groaned.

Grantaire and Courfeyrac moved into the room again several minutes later, and Enjolras looked at the brunet, slowly getting to his feet. Grantaire bristled, but Enjolras put his hands out in a peaceful motion. “I’m homoromantic, bisexual. Not gay.”

"I know." Grantaire muttered. Enjolras nodded, and Grantaire mimicked the motion.

"Do you mind sitting down?"

"If you buy me a drink." Grantaire crossed his arms, but the blond scoffed and made a face.

"Suck my dick, Grantaire." Grantaire grinned at him.

"Okay." Enjolras’ cheeks coloured a bright scarlet.

"No, I didn’t mean, I-"

Grantaire gasped. “You  _tease_.”

"Grantaire-"

"Enjolras. Drink."

“ _One_  drink.” Enjolras said firmly.

"Fine." Grantaire and Enjolras settled at their table together, and Jehan watched them.

"They need to get laid." Courfeyrac muttered.

"They will. Grantaire’s going to make a comment about sucking Enjolras off, and Enjolras is going to retort without thinking about it, and then he’ll make Grantaire blush, and when Grantaire stands up to go home in-" Jehan looked to the clock. "Half an hour, Enjolras will stand to, and they’ll go to Grantaire’s apartment together."

All of them stared at Jehan as Enjolras and Grantaire continued their (much less violent) discussion on their own table.

"What?" Courfeyrac asked. Jehan offered him a serene expression.

"May I be dealt into the next game, please?" Twenty five minutes later, Grantaire stood from the table, picking up his coat, and Enjolras stood too. They left together without saying goodbye, and Jehan’s smile was slightly smug.

"You’re a wizard." Feuilly muttered, shaking his head.

"I am observant." Jehan rebuked. "How do you think Marius’ dinner is going?"

"With Cosette’s dad and his boyfriend? Probably awfully." Bahorel said. "You know how flustered he gets."

Jehan considered this for a few moments, and then he smiled. "Yes, he rather does, doesn't he?"


	2. Lies and Flustered Talking (Marius)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marius and Cosette's part: a family dinner.

Marius was a little nervous as Cosette let him inside, and he pulled off his coat and his gloves, putting the gloves in his coat pocket and hanging the coat up. “Stop worrying. Javert is nice.” Cosette insisted, patting Marius’ shoulder and pulling him down to press a quick kiss to his mouth.

Cosette kept hold of Marius’ hand as she led him into the dining room, settling them both in their seats. Her father’s place and Javert’s were set across from them. The table could seat eight, but the four of them had places set up in the middle.

Marius doubted Jean ever held dinners with the a full table. While he wasn’t anti-social, he was always very cautious about letting people into his home. “Marius?”

"Yes, sir, I’m here!" Marius called back, and Jean Valjean hummed to himself in the kitchen. Marius looked to Cosette, and his lips quirked into a slight smile without permission from his brain - he often struggled to suppress a smile when looking at Cosette.

"You’re beautiful." He murmured softly, and she chuckled, patting his knee.

"So are you." Marius dipped and pressed a kiss to her lips, until he heard a man clearing his throat as he entered the room. 

”Oh, you must be Jav-” Marius stood up sharply, sending his chair back. “Mister Barret, sir!”

"It’s Bar-AY, not Bar-eTT. It’s French, which I’m guessing you know." Marius shot Cosette a desperate look, but Javert commanded his attention.

"You would be Marius." Javert said, looking him up and down. "I taught you?" Mister Barret - Marius had never even considered his first name, had assumed it was  _John_  or something, but no, Cosette had said Jean was dating one of the other staff members at the Saint Michele high school, but he’d never even  _thought_  - had taught history to Marius from 11 ‘til the time he’d left. But Cosette had said he was the headmaster, and he must have been headmaster now.”

"History, yes, sir." Marius said politely, attempting to regain his dignity. Jean was the head librarian in the school library, but he and Cosette had moved into town a good year or two after Marius had left school. Javert looked from Marius to Cosette, frowning.

"How old are you, boy?"

"T-twenty one, sir."

"Three years older." Javert murmured, watching Marius with something like suspicion. He narrowed his eyes. "I think I vaguely recognize you. Weren’t you- you were in the class with that  _blond_  child. The political activist!” The blood ran out of Marius’ face.

"I’ve no idea who you mean, sir."

"What was his name? It was a good name, a French name, but he was such an idiotic child…"

"No, I, I don’t know at all, sir."

"Wanted to start a revolution."

"Sounds a like a strange man." Javert nodded his agreement, settling into his seat across from Marius, and Marius dropped into his seat again.

"Ettiene? Émile? Eloy?" Marius lip quivered as he took a sip from his glass, just as Jean entered the room, mercifully, with chicken and a bowl of potato dauphinoise.

"What’s this?" He asked cheerfully, pressing a kiss to Javert’s temple before he settled into his own seat. That was strange. Marius had honestly never considered his old history teacher  _looking_  at anyone, let alone actually dating someone - and especially not dating his girlfriend’s father. 

"A student Marius shared a class with."

"I’ve no idea who you’re talking about, sir, I’m positive." Marius insisted. Javert Barret had  _abhorred_  Enjolras with every fibre of his being. His history lessons had always painted revolution and large social upheaval in a negative light, and Marius couldn’t count on both his hands how many times Enjolras had been given detentions for getting in shouting matches with the man.

"Blond boy, effeminate. Liked the phrase "fascist oppressor"." Marius knew that Enjolras had once painted Javert’s car window with this phrase, in cahoots with an eager Courfeyrac and a reluctant Combeferre.

"Oh, you mean Enjolras?" Marius  _did_  put his face in his hands.

"You know the boy?"

"He’s hardly a boy. A young man, really." Jean said in a casual tone, beginning to spoon out potatoes onto each plate. "He’s actually rather polite, once you convince him you are not, in fact, an active fascist oppressor." 

"O-Oh, you mean Enjolras. Right, of course you did. It, uh, didn’t connect." Marius said weakly. 

"Marius and Cosette are in a club with him." Jean said conversationally.

"It’s- it’s not really a  _club_ , more, uh, a gathering.”

"It’s quite enjoyable, actually. It’s a challenge to stump an argument of Enjolras’, but the satisfaction it draws is more than significant." Cosette said brightly, and Jean looked at her for a few moments, seeming proud. 

"Is he as argumentative as he ever was?" Javert asked in a half-grumble.

"More so." Marius murmured. "He’s studying law, like me."

"Law? He’d make a good lawyer." Javert muttered, looking thoughtful. "As will you, of course." He added as an afterthought, looking slightly embarrassed. 

"Thank you, sir." Marius mumbled. There was an awkward silence.

"I like the potatoes, Jean." 

"Thank you, Marius."

Cosette began a conversation, then, talking about how business had been going in the centre she worked at, and when the conversation turned to him, Marius talked quietly of his studies. “Do you, um, miss teaching, Javert?”

"Not in the least." Javert said, and Marius’ cheeks coloured.

"After your class was gone, well. It was boring without some sort of argument." Marius blinked at him. "Headmaster is more interesting." Javert said firmly.

"Good."

"He has time to bother the librarian." Jean added, lips twitching, and Javert straightened.

"Ah, yes, well. Only when I have a genuine query."

"About dinner?"

"Dinner, wine. Other things." Jean was beaming. Marius wasn’t entirely certain Javert  _did_  smile, but he did look more pleased than he usually did. 

Marius looked to Cosette for help, but she just smiled and paid attention to her food.

—-

"How was dinner?" Courfeyrac asked brightly when Marius entered the Musain the next day, with three free hours before his next class.

"Javert Barret is Jean’s boyfriend."

"Barret?" Enjolras repeated the word, and then his eyes lit up with something resembling fire. " _Barret_.” He growled, and Marius dropped into the chair.

"Apparently he misses you." Marius mumbled. Enjolras blinked.

"Really?"

"Who would have thought?" Grantaire dropped into Enjolras’ lap without ceremony, sipping at his coffee. "Who is Javert Barret?"

"He used to be our history teacher." Courfeyrac said. He smiled to himself. "We graffitied his car once."

"We?"

"Me, Enjolras and Combeferre."

"I was an unwilling participant." The medical student said, not looking up from his textbook.

“ _You_ , Enjolras? Graffiti an innocent man’s  _car_?”

"I was-" Enjolras’ cheeks had coloured, and he tried not to meet Grantaire’s eye. "I was fifteen, it was-"

"Great." Courfeyrac said dreamily.

"Irresponsible." Combeferre muttered.

"Rash." Enjolras finished. Grantaire grinned, messing up the blond’s hair with a clever hand. 

"Did he like you?" Combeferre asked, looking up to Marius. 

"I think so? I don’t- I don’t think he  _can_  smile.”

"He can smile." Cosette brought a plate of cookies bought from the front room of the café, and she set a tea in front of Marius before moving to sip at her cocoa. "He laughs too, just not very often."

"Really? With you?"

"With Papa." Marius slouched in his chair. 

"Do you think he liked you?"

"I think so." Cosette nodded. "He mentioned to Papa once you’d gone home he was very glad it was you instead of Enjolras, actually." Marius coloured, and Enjolras hid his face, embarrassed, against Grantaire’s shoulder.

"You should apologize to him, and all. Leave out the cocksucking, though."

"Grantaire!" Courfeyrac and Combeferre protested at the same time, Combeferre’s accompanied by face of disgust and Courfeyrac’s followed up with retching sounds.

"You’re disgusting." Enjolras muttered.

"Yeah, Grantaire, you haven’t met the man, you wouldn’t- I mean- I-" Marius stopped short.

"I don’t think you’re really his type anyway." Cosette said lightly, sipping at her cocoa. "But yes, I do think he rather liked you, Marius."

"What would you have done if he didn’t like Marius?" Courfeyrac asked, and Cosette winked.

"Trade him in, obviously."

"Cosette!"

"I’m joking, and you well know it." Cosette retorted, pulling him in for a quick kiss that left the taste of chocolate tingling on Marius’ lips. "No, I’d probably just say "Well, he isn’t Enjolras, is he?" and leave it at that. Marius isn’t a disappointment."

Enjolras shot Cosette an affronted expression, but she merely returned a teasing smile. 


End file.
